If I had a shiny gun,
I could have a world of fun
Speeding bullets through the brains
Of the folk who give me pains;
Or had I some poison gas,
I could make the moments pass
Bumping off a number of
People whom I do not love.
......
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
......
The gingham dog and the calico cat
Side by side on the table sat;
'T was half-past twelve, and (what do you think!)
Nor one nor t' other had slept a wink!
The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate
Appeared to know as sure as fate
There was going to be a terrible spat.
(I wasn't there; I simply state
What was told to me by the Chinese plate!)
......
They say I looked back out of curiosity.
But I could have had other reasons.
I looked back mourning my silver bowl.
Carelessly, while tying my sandal strap.
So I wouldn't have to keep staring at the righteous nape
of my husband Lot's neck.
From the sudden conviction that if I dropped dead
he wouldn't so much as hesitate.
From the disobedience of the meek.
Checking for pursuers.
......
O trees of life, oh, what when winter comes?
We are not of one mind. Are not like birds
in unison migrating. And overtaken,
overdue, we thrust ourselves into the wind
and fall to earth into indifferent ponds.
Blossoming and withering we comprehend as one.
And somewhere lions roam, quite unaware,
in their magnificence, of any weaknesss.
But we, while wholly concentrating on one thing,
......
Fools, Politicians, and the Press
A jesting farce, a grim blockade—
The fools have dragged us to our knees,
Joined by the Dark, corrupt brigade
Of liars in the press’s sleaze.
And guarding them, the brute police.
......
Writer of the present era,
Conceived and raised in the illumination of the gods.
Literary path they showed me,
Never to be them but to seek what they sought.
Winter and summer, i lay my lines.
Explicit and abstract, still in my lines of ancestors.
Lines of creatity i wished, and end to it i prayed not.
Papyrus and cuneiform, all i grew with.
......
in this molten hollow, crusted with land
overdue says the axis, manic spinning
round and about the magic gravity bond
there was barely a doubt in the eyes of the abyss
it gazes back when the word is said
quick, quick, the moment seeping quick
brushing—in bristles soft—our mystic time
each moment passing by, the fabric
layer stretching out into a platter: shine
presented on the altar of conscience
......
Always, a change of plans
Interrupts my tranquil course –
Set forth by circumstances
It appears, for the worse.
I resent it, I begrudge –
It chips away at my mind –
Finally, I'm forced to oblige
And surrender my time
......
in another universe
you and I never part.
the sun comes up and we still lay together,
washed with the glow of another day
very much in love.
sometimes knowing this universe exists
and that I will never see it
hurts me in a way I never knew I could be hurt.
......